


Merlin's Curse

by Mistral83



Category: DC Animated Movie Universe, Justice League - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types, Teen Titans: The Judas Contract (2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Conner Kent is a Precious Little Shit, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, F/M, Fluff, John Constantine Needs A Hug, Magic, Memory Loss, Post-Judas-Contract, Second First Romance, Suddenly a Teen again, Surprise Pairing, breaking up, teenage problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27531232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistral83/pseuds/Mistral83
Summary: In the line of duty, one member of the Justice League gets cursed in a rather dramatic fashion, which forces them to readjust their life. As they make different choices, they become a different person, with a different skillset.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, John Constantine/Zatanna Zatara
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Merlin's Curse

**Prologue**

When she awoke, she felt like she was reborn, fresh and energetic. Beams of sunlight shining through the window tickled her face; outside, birds were singing to the subdued sound of traffic, while the sheets were clean. It could have been such a serene scenery, if it weren’t for the fact that when she sat up and looked around, she realized that she was in a hospital bed, disinfectant hanging in the air, and a strange and sombre-looking man sitting at her bedside.  
  
“Finally awake, hm?”, he said while lifting his head to examine her more closely. His British accent was thick, while the man himself looked a bit dishevelled. His coat looked old and worn, his tie was loose and his shirt spotty. It must have been a day or two that his five o’clock-shadow hat seen a razor, or his hair a comb. She would have been disgusted and scared, if the man hadn’t looked so pitiful, so … defeated. With languid movements, the Englishman reached into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes, but quickly tucked it away after an impressive, disapproving snort on her part.  
  
“You know who I am?”, he asked, fatigue creeping into his voice. She also noticed that he didn’t look her in the eye, just glanced at her every now and then.  
  
“You’re a stranger at my bedside.”, she replied, matter-of-factly and confidently. “Explain why you’re here, and pray that you are not a creep. I can scream pretty loudly.”  
  
The Englishman chuckled humourlessly, and then again avoided looking directly at her. “You won’t scream, you will blast me to oblivion.” Stretching his back and turning his upper body to her, he rested his elbow on the wall in a pose of forced nonchalance, enunciating his name for emphasis clearly in his otherwise slightly mumbled accent. “John Constantine, Master of the Dark Arts, clueless magician, perpetual Johnny-come-lately and eternal fuck-up.” There was a small beat, before he added. “Batsy will be mad if I swear in front of a minor. Say, how old are you?”  
  
“I’m fifteen, which means that you have to notify my Dad at once, hospital and all that. By the way, I don’t feel seek or injured. Why exactly am I here? Can I leave?” That guy gave her the creeps, and although he was a fellow magician, he seemed to be going through some emotional stuff. She sensed that he was a sad, lonely and desperate man who knew far too much about her magical capabilities. That was dangerous and her first instinct was to get herself away from him.  
  
The Englishman let his shoulders slump at the mention of her age, and managed to look even more dejected, more sorrowful. “Funny thing that you tell me that. See, you told me about that thing in the first place.”  
  
“I don’t know you.” She stated warily, but the Englishman, this John Constantine, waved her off.  
  
“I’m going somewhere with this. There is this ancient myth about the Merlin of Britain, the most powerful wizard of my beloved, damp little island. There was this legend that the first Merlin walked the Earth first as an old man, but then became so powerful that he aged backwards. He turned into a young man and then aged normally again. That way, he lived several centuries by performing great feats of magic, magic so earth-shattering, so mind-boggling, such a breath of power … well.” She grinned weakly and sheepishly. “I never believed it. Never believed any of it. Not until today. Today, I saw magic in its most raw, most pure form. It saved everybody … it aged the magician for years and years, until the magician aged back. And here we are.”  
  
Even though the Englishman was a stranger, was giving her creepy vibes and looked as sad as a wilted, potted plant, this story made her skin crawl. She the stories about that supposed Merlin-sickness. She also knew that there had been no reported cases other the original Merlin, which only added to the impression that his supposed aging and de-aging was merely that: a story. It seemed more likely that ‘Merlin’ had been a title passed to talented magic users in Old Britain before and during the Roman occupation. Some of those Merlins seemed to have been old, some young, but all of them had been male.  
However, there had been reports that sometimes, in desperation, magicians had powered a spell with their own lifespan and subsequently aged in a matter of seconds. But who would do such a thing? Suicide by spell was not a solution. No magician could be in such a dire situation that they would kill themselves for a spell, couldn’t they? It was also creepy that the Englishman low-key insisted that they both knew each other.  
  
“I want tot talk to my Dad.”, she reiterated, this time more insistently.  
  
The Englishman slowly shook his head. “I can’t reach him. Sorry.”  
  
“What do you mean, you can’t reach him? His name is in the telephone book, you know?”  
  
“Yeah … these aren’t exactly a thing anymore.” This was the first time he looked into her eyes, his expression a mix between intensity and pleading to be heard. “Listen to me: That Merlin-illness, that curse? It happened to you. You are 35 years old, a successful stage magician and the best sorceress I have ever seen. And you are a bloody heroine. Today, you paid the price.”  
  
At this point, it was clear that the Englishman was either pulling her leg or tried to kidnap her with some grand and convoluted scheme. But he was a thirty-something old man, and she was a young girl with bronze in gymnastic dance under her belt and a variety of spells at her proposal. Even for a self-proclaimed ‘Master of the Dark Arts’ just as this, she was confident that she could take him. There was a certain feeling around him, and aura that made it clear to her that in terms of magic energy, he was completely spent for the day. Sure, she was just in a hospital gown, but there was a magical solution for this as well, given a little bit of time. So she smiled sweetly, as if understanding what he was talking about, before gathering magic in her hands.  
  
As always, she needed an incantation to cast even simple spells. There were sorcerers out there who were said to know a spell by heart, and therefore didn’t need a spoken incantation. She had also recently started to pour a bit of magical energy into her wand to use it as stored magic, but she couldn’t see it anywhere and this creep was talking nonsense. Therefore, she went for one of her favourites, which was nice, easy, quick and didn’t hurt anybody. With a quick whisper on her lips, she created a short burst of blinding light, which did not miss its mark. John Constantine apparently didn’t see this coming and was looking directly into her bright burst, turning his head away and falling rather unelegantly from his chair. Before he could gather himself up, she jumped out of her bed and ran towards the door on her bare feet. Rule number one when using magic: Never use more than necessary. Since the Englishman was currently on the ground and letting out a slew of oh so very British curse words, she figured that this was everything she needed to do and opened the door.  
  
As if the day couldn’t get any weirder, there was a tall man in a caped bat costume standing right before her. She never had the opportunity to react or to cast a spell; she only knew that he was fast, and that the next thing she knew, she felt his hand on her neck and a sting. Then the world started spinning, and she she felt too woozy, too weak to even stand. Suddenly, the ground was so close. Hello ground. She did hear that costumed madman speak, though, and it was a surprisingly gentle tone he used. “Sorry, Zatanna.”


End file.
